The Drawing Board
by PrayTonight
Summary: Miles Connor, a SHIELD weapons, tactical gear, and transportation engineer, has been dealing with the unusual since she joined the secretive agency... until Director Fury came up with an even more unusual idea: The Avengers Initiative.
1. Look Ahead (Don't Look Back)

This is a Rewritten and Updated version of the 2012 film, The Avengers. It's been years, I know, but I've been busy catching up with life at work, home, family, and other things amongst the growing numbers. I can only say that I hope you can forgive for the long-ass wait and be pleased with this new sucker I've got posted here. So please, enjoy this chapter to the fullest, and pray for a next update that's just about as long as this one. Thanks, and remember to leave a review. **_I HAVE RETURNED_**!

* * *

 **xX _2oo4_ Xx _  
_**

"What is that...?"

"That looks interesting..."

"Was this hand drawn?"

"No way! I bet it was photoshop'd."

"This looks like something out of a sci-fi movie."

"What a geek!"

"No kidding. Probably watched way too many Transformer movies."

"This is so stupid, lets go."

I stood a bit away from the small group, listening with a tight chest as they mocked my work displayed on the bulletin board I set up on the table.

I had only left the table to get myself a small cup of fruit punch for my parched throat (nerves did that for you), so color me surprised when I saw people looking at my project. For a moment, I felt a rush of excitement and happiness when the group scrutinized and read my bullet points that I pinned next to my blue prints; the good feelings, however, were short-lived when they opened their mouths.

I had been preparing for this mock EXPO. I spent an entire month researching, sketching, and preparing a thesis argument for what good my project could benefit, if given the chance, for the future. But, like all the times before, and not for the time, I was left in disappointment.

The ridicule, the mocking, and the dismissal were things that I was frighteningly becoming accustomed to. It still stung when I had to go through the process every. Single. Time.

It didn't help that I was all alone, either. Dad had been rostered in taking the night shift of the mall as the security guard, completely missing out on this event. Though, I thought after blankly watching another group scoff at my blue prints, it was mostly likely better he hadn't shown up for this. I never wanted dad to see this, his own kid being once again beaten down by a bunch of bullies that took pleasure in making a young girl feel terrible than she already was.

After all, people of all ages felt threatened by a then-ten-year-old girl attending high school.

The hazing, the ostracizing, the harassment from my older peers from both the hallways and the ones standing before the classroom was a total nightmare that no little girl should ever experience in their first week.

School, what I used to believe, was a place where young minds grew older and wiser with the subjects that let students grasp the idea and let it expand from there on. After my experience, school was a place where it only encouraged minds to be kept in line and be silent, not for us to deviate and let us form new ideas, philosophies, discoveries, and so much more.

Ever since middle school, my brain and I always ended up being a thorn on people's sides. A teacher got after me for writing my name in cursive. A teacher complained to my father that my reading was far too advanced than my fellow students ( two, three years older than me). A teacher sent me to detention because my power point presentation was about white privileged people who treated people of color as second-class citizens. Another teacher failed me because my math work was unlike the one that was taught in class, despite the answers being the same.

Whatever I did, teachers sneered down at me with as much as condescension they conveyed behind their snarling mouths, and it literally made me sick to my stomach to show up at their classes. It was a horrifying aspect to know that these teachers held my grades like paper over the fire, dangling it with the threat to destroy me if I did not fall back to the steps the school system wanted me to.

At one point, I nearly dropped out of school. A young girl should never have to feel threatened when alone in the bathroom stalls where older girls spat venomous words right in your face, and they shouldn't have to feel lonely when sitting at the very corner of a cafeteria where some idiot would occasionally throw food at the back of your head.

Dad, dear old dad of mine, pushed me back. He was a tired man, working endlessly to put food on the table or paying the due rent of our crammed apartment home. Quitting school meant getting beaten, and getting beaten meant letting my dad's hard work to have me stay in school go down the drain. In order for me to get my grades up to earn me a scholarship to a great college, I had to do something about the teachers; and in order for the teachers to give me good grades, they either had to like me... or they had go.

Matilda, I had to say, was a great role model and inspiration.

Four months later, evidence on both paper and tape recorder, I had half the school staff, including the principal, fired by the school district for their abuse of authority, their verbal assault on mine and few other students, and for the lack of discipline when students were in need of intervention against bullies. It was very satisfying to see the last of those vultures go, all of them fighting fruitlessly against the hard evidence procured against them. I had made those teachers lose their jobs, and I simply waved goodbye as they were shoved out the door with a smile plastered on my face.

The issue with my fellow students harassing me was no longer an issue. A boy that had been slipping vulgar letters in my locker ended up being expelled from school for holding "stolen" panties in his own locker when all the girls had changed for gym period. A typical preppy girl, with equally air-headed followers, had always been nasty to me, so I photoshop'd a picture of her head onto the body of a stripper and sent it all over the school hallways; she ended up having to switch schools when her so-called friends threw her to the wolves to save themselves from social suicide.

It was an awful way to do things, but it was the only language people in the school seemed to know. With the new teachers being more open-minded, and the students learning to back the hell off if they wanted to keep their reputation and sanity in tact, my high school year went on unhindered.

But even with the change, some things remained the same...

This was just an extra-credit assignment left by the science teacher. He challenged his students to come up with an invention that could be the next big thing. Seeing as this was a Seniors-only kind of assignment, I wanted not only a good grade to put a good mark on my record, but a way to show what I really wanted to do in order to help people. Science and Engineering were two majors I wanted to pursue, and I was going to bring the both of them together with the project I spun up from my head.

Now, though, as I stood in front of the blue prints and stared at the designs of what I made, I had doubts.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered darkly before slamming the cup harshly on the table, uncaring if it spilled or not. I pulled at the pins holding the blue prints up. "What the hell were you thinking, Miles?"

Screw the wait for the judges, screw the extra-credits, and screw everyone else. I was going home.

"Now that," I heard someone say from behind me. "Is really something."

I paused at completely pulling the pin out of the board before slowly turning my head over my shoulder.

There, not far away from me in the suddenly empty section of the gym that held the mock EXPO, stood a man dressed in a neat black suit and tie. He looked to be around dad's age, his hair almost receding from the fore-front of his head, and his steel-blue eyes taking in every detail of the picture with genuine interest. For a moment, I stood there awkwardly between him and the blue prints, unsure of what to say or what to do next.

"Uh..." I inwardly winced from my response.

"Phil Coulson," the man introduced himself.

He outstretched his hand for a formal hand-shake. With some reluctance, my experience with people not being the best considering my history, we shook hands. I watched silently from the side when he moved closer to the board, taking it in more thoroughly now that I wasn't in his way, reading some of the paragraphs on the bullet points before pulling away.

"You're pretty well informed with how these engines, propellers, and isolation chambers work, Ms...?"

"Connor. Miles Connor."

"Ms. Connor. While some of the materials are accurate, I see a few mistakes here and there..." he said as he pointed to the area of errors I made on the drawings.

Usually, when someone wanted to tell me I was wrong, they made it feel like they were rubbing salt on an open wound. The gentleman, meanwhile, made it sound like a simple tip and suggestion for me to learn from.

The tight feeling that hung over me while eyeing the older man warily soon disappeared. For the first time in quite awhile, someone, outside my dad, finally treated me and my work with respect. It was like someone had opened the curtains of a dark, dusty room to let the light in my lonesome world. Trying not to melt into an excited chatterbox, now that I had someone looking over my work, I turned to my board to examine the few places he pointed out with consideration.

"I have very limited resources, Mr. Coulson. Public libraries can only hold some information regarding how vehicles and aircrafts of all kind work."

Unlike most, my family couldn't afford anything beside a crappy cellphone (to call dad for a pick-up). Computers and additional internet services were completely out of the question when my dad could barely keep up with the rent. The cellphones alone had almost got us kicked out when dad had been a few weeks behind. It didn't help that the landlord was an utter tool.

Having a computer of my own would have saved me a lot of hurt. I wouldn't have to have traveled two bus routes to the local library and double-check the accuracy of projects I had been assigned to. Getting anything wrong would result in tears before an entire class when a teacher rubbed it in my face after pointing out the flaws of my work by pulling up a more sophisticated website for their own computer. Like before, public libraries only had so much information on the internet while the rest was blocked due to possible abuse on the search engines.

"Yes," Coulson agreed as he looked back to the blue prints. "Which is interesting since your previous projects have given quite a few of our people some inspiration with your unique ideas."

The mention of my middle school years made me freeze. Coulson made it sound like that he had been watching my work for a few short years. I had been too caught up with my troubles dealing with the menace that was school that I didn't notice someone actually reading into my projects. The cautious feeling returned, more higher than ever, and the older man seemed to have sensed that.

Next thing I knew, a pristine white card was held openly in front of my face. My eyes squinted at the letters whilst reading them aloud.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." I took the card from his fingers. "That's, um, that's a mouthful."

"We're working on it." there was a hint of humor in his voice, like this hadn't been the first time someone told him such.

"Okay," I slowly began as I took another glance at the card. "Considering this is some sort of organization I've never heard of, and the fact that you had been tracking my projects since middle school..."

I deliberately paused for the information to sink in, for both myself and Coulson to understand what I was interpreting from this conversation. If there was any need to clarify what was implied, Coulson had none.

"You want something from me."

There was no question. The statement was out, and it was open, and it was time for some answers from the older man.

He did not disappoint me.

"Your IQ is quite remarkable for someone that is a shy of becoming thirteen," he explained as he, out of his neat suit, pulled out a manilla folder. He opened it to skim through whatever papers he was reading. "From our estimation, you would have been done with high school by the time you had turned eleven, but due to the incompetence of the instructors..."

He didn't have to finish that sentence, my face was enough to tell him to skip past this dreadful part.

"While I know some that want to poke your brain, it's your projects that really interest for us, Ms. Connor."

I furrowed my brows at him. "Is... Is this for real?"

I may be young, but I could still remember reading stories about silver-tongued people. Rumpelstiltskin promising a poor girl luxury for the price of her firstborn child, Grima Wormtongue poisoning the King of Rohan until he fell into sickness, and almost his kingdom along with him, and Loki, God of Mischief and Lies... need I go on? The point of this inner monologue: never trust things that sound way too good to be true. For all I knew, this could be a scam and Coulson was kissing up to me to make me sign whatever he wanted to get me in some sort of debt.

"What you've created, both previous and the one right now, are something to considered very seriously." Coulson continued. "Your projects have the same theme: to help mankind move forward."

Slowly, I turned my head to look at the picture still pinned. The cons beginning to lessen and the pros gradually rising the more I thought and the more he talked. Was I truly accepting something because of a few pretty words, or was that my desperation for acknowledgment bubbling up to the surface?

"What's it called?"

I turned back to him, confused for a moment before realizing what he meant when he gestured to the blue prints.

The chalk outlined an image of an aircraft carrier with four lift fans, two stationed on each side to even out the bulk of the carrier and two different runways for small jets to land or take lift off from. The interior was still a work in progress, but a large main station was drawn in for the most part for communications that could reach out in a global scale for incoming emergency responses and whatnot.

"I call it... the Helicarrier."

Whether it had been a moment of weakness, or a pride that overshadowed my entire being, I found myself talking more and more with the mysterious Phil Coulson who appeared in my lonesome corner of the school gym.

* * *

 **xX _2o11_ Xx _  
_**

"This isn't the way to go, sir."

"Oh? And I believe you got a better idea?"

"Well, it's not actually good, but it's better than what you've got! S-sir!"

There was a nervous pause.

"... fine. This introduction is all yours."

"Sir?" came simultaneously confused voices.

"Your heard me, agent. If I so much as see a hint of this going downhill, I will hold you responsible to all the paperwork piling up in the lower offices for you to deal with."

"W- _what_?!"

 **...**

Everything smelled... clean?

Eyes fluttered open and took a moment to adjust from the blurry vision. A tiled ceiling was what met his line of vision, and trailing his eyes further south, he saw a room.

A room that looked like something out a science-fiction horror film he had seen when he had been younger—Wait! His eyes blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if it would help him clear the vague and unhelpful thoughts in his head to settle on one fact.

 _'I'm... still alive...?'_

The thought alone made a rush of chills run up and down his spine and prickle up beneath his skin. His head lifted from the too-soft pillow to get a better view of the rest of his body, or what might have remained. To his astonishment, his lower half, two legs, and all ten toes seemed to be perfectly functional and attached to his person.

He was breathing, and he was living... and his arms were tangled in wires that dug into his skin while his forefinger was encased by some bulky block. And the constant beeping noise from the machines that he had never seen before, the colorful lines rising and falling like childish drawings of mountains, where the in hell was he? The noise was getting a bit on his nerves that he was tempted to smash it, if only to shut it up, but it looked like expensive equipment that somebody paid a lot of bucks for...

Someone that could be currently holding him hostage.

A little alarmed, he looked around the room for any signs of threat. He immediately found what he was searching for when he had only looked to the right side of the somewhat small room to see a man looking at him from behind a closed door. He stilled, muscles tight and heavy, his eyes focused on the man dressed in a dark suit watching him with caution. He looked around his forties or early fifties, his dark blond hair becoming overtaken by the silver settling at the front of his hairline.

The man simply stared at him before turning his attention to the side, his mouth, while unheard, easily readable for him to understand.

The stranger was calling for a nurse.

 _'Not an enemy,'_ he thought with relief, his muscles sinking from the suspension of danger that potentially loomed ahead.

Not too long, a young woman appeared, her face friendly and pretty while it was framed by... blue hair? His mother, God rest her soul, had ingrained her lessons into him that followed him to this day, but he could not stop staring at the lady's obnoxious blue hair that almost hurt his eyes just by looking at it. What's more, he noticed when he was able to pull away his eyes from the blue, blue hair, was while she was looking him over, asking him questions of the state of his health, she didn't appear as a... proper nurse.

Since when did nurses dress in baggy slacks and shirts nearly too wide for them? Where was the uniform that they usually went in?

"Can you pull your shirt up, sir? I need to check your respiratory." she motioned him to roll up his shirt as she pulled up her stethoscope to her ears. "Now, deep breath..."

 _Inhale..._

Doctors, he remembered, usually did this part. He knew from experience with multiple doctors that they were the ones that usually checked this part and a few others this nurse did, so watching the blue-haired woman was something to marvel, really (along with her hair).

"Very good. Breathe out."

 _… Exhale_.

"And we're done!" she chirped.

"Um..." he stopped himself, unsure as how to proceed with his steadily growing questions.

A knock on the door alerted him and the nurse of a new party. Looking past the uniquely-haired woman, he caught the sight of—

 _Wide and frightened eyes staring straight at him while the end of a barrel barely brushed against his nose. He swallowed thickly, wondering with morbid humor if this was going to be something of a laugh if his boys ever heard how he got shot in the face by a doe-eyed, half-hysterical woman on the verge of pulling a trigger from that mean-looking rifle of hers._

 _A champagne bottle exploding in foam while a bright light flashed across his vision. His face hurt from all the grinning, and his sides ached a little from the bellowing laughter filtering out of his mouth. One hand holding a glass full of wine while the other was holding smaller, delicate fingers. Her laughter was the loudest he heard from everyone else, and it was music to his ears._

 _His hands, his damn huge hands that looked like they could crush a football with a simple squeeze, were utterly empty. He failed. This helpless feeling that he thought he had gotten rid of had returned with vengeance, and he could only succumb to the overwhelmingly heavy guilt that paraded his chest. Those small, pretty hands grabbed his own, and those sad, beautiful eyes of hers told him that he wasn't the only one who felt like they were sinking down. At least, she was going down with him.  
_

 _Things were bad. If he were any other man, he would have jumped ship to save his own life... and go back to the person waiting for him. But he wasn't any other man. For everyone's sake, he had to do this. As he descended, all he could think about was her dark hair that fell in cascades and shined brightly when in sunlight. Her nature fierce and spoke that she would remain untamed, just like the beautiful creature she was upon their first meeting. Her eyes, her soulful eyes that burned into him since the moment he saw her... All he had to do was close his eyes, see her face, and say her name—_

"Steve Rogers?"

He blinked out of his stupor, looking at the person standing at the doorway.

She looked... young.

And...

"Excuse me," the blue-haired nurse spoke up, nearly startling him from his scrutinizing of the lady dressed in a suit that reminded him of the swanky fellows that walked the streets of his city. Her clothes, however, had a feminine look to them, with it being tight around the waist, the wide slacks that nearly covered her high-heeled shoes, and the open collar that exposed her smooth neck. The door closed behind the dark suited lady, leaving Steve alone with her.

Strange machines, a nurse who acted more like a doctor (and had _blue_ hair!), and a young woman who... who was strange by default (in his opinion, anyway).

"Where am I?" he finally asked after a long period of silence.

"You're in a hospital." she supplied easily, answering the question yet being vague all the same. She seated herself to a nearby chair, a place conveniently away from him and closer to the door if she felt threatened by him. "What do you remember, Captain?"

He eyed her a bit, still unsure as he took in her features. She waited patiently, not seeming to be in a hurry if this took awhile.

"I was crashing into the ocean."

She nodded. "You succeeded in taking out the Valkyrie and saved many lives in the process."

While her words spoke of victory, there was something about the way her tone went on about how his success had costed him something of dire consequences in his plan to bury the plane into open waters. He stared at her, waiting for her to say something regarding what happened in the aftermath when everything went lights out for him. The constant beeping of the machine beside his bed was beginning to grate on his nerves as the silence continued.

Thankfully, she caught onto Steve's conveying stare.

"When we found you..." she paused, trying to find appropriate words before continuing. "My superiors wanted to break this to you slowly. Gently."

Deep inside him, dread began to sprout like a little seedling that was growing as fast as Jack's magic beanstalk.

"I couldn't, in good conscious, allow that. You... you deserved better than that." she said, her face trying not to show the distress her voice held, but Steve could hear it anyway. "It's not right to beat around the bush."

The beanstalk grew higher and higher and higher...

"What _happened_?" he croaked.

She looked like she wanted to stop talking, get up, and run out of the room. Had she followed through with that, Steve would have ripped the needles and whatever stuff sticking to him, chased her down, and demanded answers.

"You crashed the Valkyrie in March 4th of 1945, just off the coast of Greenland... and you've been in animated suspension ever since."

He could feel the beanstalk climbing up his throat.

"What it means is... the, the ice, it freezes things to the point of death, but because of Dr. Erskine's serum, it merely... hibernated your body until we found you just, uh, a few weeks ago..." she was stammering over her words, looking like she was shrinking under his boring gaze.

He wanted to ask her something, but he was too afraid of what he was going to hear.

"Captain Rogers," her lips opened slightly to breathe with her mouth than her nose. "... It's been sixty-six years since you last saw this world—"

Without warning, the beanstalk came out in slimy chunks from his mouth and onto the white, shiny floor of the room.

In a daze, he felt tiny hands push him up from nearly falling to the floor into his own vomit, and it wasn't long when those hands disappeared to be replaced by multiple, bigger ones. Steve's eyes, blurry from the oddly-dressed people in pale blue slacks and wide shirts surrounding him, fell onto the only dark figure being removed from the strange room. Before he could think of projecting more vomit, someone thankfully pushed a bucket into his empty hands in time when he ducked his head down to spill more. He looked up in time to see those wide doe eyes disappear out the door and into the hall.


	2. See You (Again)

Hi there! Another update for this story. Wow, a lot is going on this year, some good and (mostly) bad, but it will hopefully get better. FYI, I went dressed as Captain America for Halloween! HAHA! 'Course I got soaked to the bones because we got lost in some neighborhood we never been, the rain pounding on our backs, and the cold that went through. That's what ya get living in the South, people! Anyway, here's a new chapter. Remember to leave a comment for helpful advice or whatever you need to say out loud. Thanks and enjoy!

p.s. There's a Trigger in here regarding _Campus Assault_ , just a heads up people!

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 **xX** _ _ **2oo7**__ **Xx**

Things suddenly became easier.

After school, college wasn't much of an issue as it had been in the beginning. There was plans that I needed to maybe find work (which was going to be difficult since people wouldn't hire a twelve-year-old as a potential employee, never mind her promising credentials). The skepticism with Coulson carried on after graduation, and with expectations low of whatever offers he had, I still wasn't convinced about what I was being brought into.

My doubts were blown away when dad brought the mail in to show most of the envelopes were addressed to me; they were university invitations.

Stanford, Virginia Tech, John Hopkins, MIT... the names went on and on.

Dad and I looked through them, carefully trying to find some sort of trap that would lead to trouble for me and him. There was nothing to be found. I was an accomplishing, promising, and very bright young lady for my age, and my brain would go to waste because of some sort of money trouble.

That's right. Someone went ahead and paid for my tuition fee. Dad and I didn't so much as need a penny being brought up for the cost of going to school. The whole thing smelled fishy to dad, but to me, this was a message from Coulson that he fulfilled an unspoken promise that I would not crumble away to become some sort of diner girl when I could be a engineering scientist!

As for dad's worry, I promised him to attend community college first before thinking about getting into the big ones.

Coulson gave the green light when I called him (from the card he left me with) to let him know what was up. While I was saddened that I wouldn't get to go, I took this community college as a way to prepare myself mentally and emotionally. After all, high school had left me after effects that I wish I could do without.

Several months later and... it's not so bad.

Sure, there are the stares and the unbelievable looks I got when I constantly had to identify myself as a student to the security (the ID was barely enough to convince them). It was awkward and annoying to be around be that questioned me and babbled on and on about how it was strange to see a young girl walk around the campus as a fellow student.

But at least no one was cornering me in bathroom to spit insults. No one was throwing folded paper balls at my head. No one was humiliating me in class. No one did and said nothing to make me extremely uncomfortable. So, I'd take continuous reassurances to security officers and obnoxious people over life wanting to send me into another round of hell.

… But some things didn't last long.

 **…**

It was dark, and I cursed myself for focusing too much in work to pay attention to the time.

The fact that I was carrying books that looked more like flat bricks, and it had been raining for the past few days, I found my sneaker slipping through a puddle which escalated in me falling on the pavement leading to the nearby dormitory. Acting quickly to save my work from being totally ruined by the wet pavement (work that was due tomorrow morning!), I barely noticed the sound of hurrying footsteps that rushed my direction until it was too late.

I barely let out a shriek when I felt something— _someone_!— grab me from behind, easily hauled me into the air, and began to carry me away from under the bright street lamp that led to the illuminated college campus. All I could think was the stories and warnings I heard about girls getting assaulted by strangers or fellow students, the fear jumping up my throat when I could feel a large hand slide against my developing chest. I felt tears spring from my eyes, my muffled voice crying out for someone to save me from this—

 _ **THWAK!**_

Another shriek escaped me, and my shriek was heard loud and clear without a dirty hand to block the sound. Next second I knew, I was dropped back on the ground which I quickly made to scramble away whilst I still could. Daring to look back, I froze from what I was looking at.

 _'Holy shit, that hobo is beating the tar out of that dude!'_ I gawked.

The hobo, a man dressed in a jacket that looked like it had been diving in way too many trash dumps with shoes that looked like they were peeling off from the bottom, was beating the crap out of a guy who looked to be some douche-bag frat boy. With a last kick to the frat boy's ribs, the larger of the two collapsed like a falling tree and stayed down. Meanwhile, the hobo ducked down to search the guy until producing a shiny and thick wallet. Finally noticing that he wasn't alone, the hobo turned towards me, and to my surprise yet again, flashed a wink and smile before standing up and disappearing behind a dumpster.

Blinking back to my senses, I quickly gathered myself and ran straight for the dorms.

At the early hours of the morning, with the sky still bleak and the rain beginning to patter down once more, I watched from the safety of my dorm room with my roommate as we watched the campus police haul the frat boy into an awaiting cop car. I had thought it would be a little hard trying to identify the man since the hobo had taken my almost attacker's wallet. Somehow, campus got a hold of the guy's identifications (that somehow appeared in the campus' security office) and they acted quickly in arresting him.

The experience had traumatized me, the feeling of helplessness that had me afraid of going anywhere alone. Strangely enough, when I would walk to the libraries or computer labs, I would catch a glimpse of the hobo that saved me that night, and I could feel his eyes watching me.

And the weird thing was... I felt safer for it.

* * *

 **xX** _ **2o12**_ **Xx**

The grill exploded in a glorious bomb of orange.

"Whoa!" I grinned from a safe distance as dad slammed the grill shut.

"Youtube gold, man!" one of dad's neighbors laughed from his place on the picnic bench set up in the backyard. Dad replied with a flip of the bird as he walked to our bench.

I offered him a beer, which he gladly took, and moved over for him to sit next to me. We both watched the small party, a couple of kids running around like someone had given them endless supplies of candy, a couple of dad's buddies gathered in a single bench to talk about the upcoming Super Bowl, and the rest of everyone enjoying the food that many of the neighborhood ladies cooked up for everyone to enjoy.

"Ain't this the life?" dad grinned down at me while wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "This party's kickin' it!"

I snorted at his old-time slang. "Nobody says kickin' it anymore, pops."

He just shrugged as he took a swig of his beer. "Owner of this fine property can say whatever the hell he wants, guests can shut their pie-holes!"

"Dad, you're stealing that off of a paranormal show!"

"So what? The rules can apply to whatever!"

We both burst into giggles and snorts. But yeah, dad was right. Life was really good when he was now the owner of a house that was big enough to accommodate a small neighborhood party. With the money he earned as a veteran security officer that manned and organized malls, museums, and the occasional concert/EXPO, his salary had went high enough that he finally ditched the crummy apartment with the horrible landlord and found himself a nice house.

It was nice to know my superiors could pull a few strings here and there to recommend my father to such job opportunities that went into his line of work.

While it was great to live in a new house, I sadly couldn't stick around much longer than I would have liked. Work became a place where I practically lived there. After graduating straight from university, Coulson immediately recruited me into his tight-lipped organization where I was exposed to a whole new world I never knew existed. It was one thing to talk about a spy agency that was more secretive than the Mossad, it was an entirely different matter to experience it first-hand.

Of course, things only got weirder since I joined. Like, Area 51 weird. Possible even more so weirder.

A scientist having an accident that resulted in him being a giant green berserker. A billionaire weapons manufacturer and head of his company creating a metal suit of armor to destroy said weapons. A hammer that fell in New Mexico that belonged to a humanoid alien claiming to be a mythical Norse God. And another case I had personally dealt with when a national icon woke up nearly seventy years after going under the ice.

Life, since joining SHIELD (they finally found a name!), got strange. Sure, the whole thing kind of faded after a couple of years, but every now and then, I would have to sit down and try to remember what was normal again.

"Miles!" I startled, blinking from my thoughts and finding Mrs. Johnson standing in front of me and dad. "Your phone's ringing, honey."

Excusing myself quickly, I got up from the bench and dodged my way through the throngs of people and children gathered outside the backyard grill party. Finding my phone nearly dancing off the top of the kitchen's island, I grabbed it and froze when I saw an unidentified number. Since starting at SHIELD, I was given my personal phone that only very few people had access to, no salesman or add-on callers could reach me through this. Quickly finding an empty room, I closed the doors shut behind me before answering.

"This is Connor."

"Agent Connor, this is a Level 7. I repeat, Level 7. Report to New York."

The line went dead, the number on the ID erased completely, and I was left standing in a room alone while music and chatter went on outside. Level 7 was SHIELD code for imminent global threat. Quickly, I rushed out the room, weaving through the party-goers scattered in the living room, kitchen, and hallways until I finally reached my room where I began to pack up clothes and toiletries. Too busy trying to get my clothes inside the small duffel bag, I nearly jumped from the knocking wood on the door frame of my room.

Dad was standing by the door.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his voice slow and eyes wary as he looked at my rushed efforts to fit all my things in one bag.

"Uh," the hard part of working in a place that held the utmost secrets regarding what really went on in the world was lying to my dad's face. "There's an emergency. My boss's assistant had an accident and they were suppose to help with a presentation with the new model planes..."

My words trailed off when dad waved a single hand and stepped closer to me to pull me into one of his big bear-hugs. I wrapped my own arms around him, inhaling his aftershave scent and absorbing his warmth. I felt his chin rest over my head, lips pressed against the crown of my head, and a brief squeeze around the torso before he finally pulled away.

"Come back soon, alright?" he said.

I couldn't trust myself to say anything. Level 7 was regarded as the big bad (the three higher levels were a league of their own) and I could only picture so many scenarios that many people were going to die. So, I nodded silently and pulled him back to a fierce hug.

Level 7 also meant that this would probably be the last time I hugged my dad.

* * *

The flight to New York was quick. The airport was usually a place of large crowds and lots of confusion, but the perks of working for SHIELD was that I was pulled out of the crowd the first step off the plane.

"Hey, bean-sprout." Agent Tim Jackals, a frenemy I made at the beginning of my time in SHIELD, greeted me.

Wearing the standard dark suit and tie, Jackals could have been passed off as some young up-and-coming CEO or a small-time entrepreneur. His youthful appearance and charming disposition made him one of the few perfect guys to implant and exploit shady stuff (the shady stuff that SHIELD had nothing to do with).

"Hey, yourself," I returned as I followed after him without looking for my bag. Chances were that someone already got my duffel bag and popped it into a transport to be dropped off in the new location I, and many others, were being led to. "Did they say anything about what's going on?"

Jackals gave me a brief look. Often times, Jackals was sarcastic and stand-offish to make an interesting impression on people (or, he wanted to look cool for his superiors). So it was a bit worrisome when he had his game-face on, a face many veteran agents wore when something big was going down that rubbed SHIELD the wrong way.

"Not here." he said quietly as he took a hold of my upper arm and pushed me to another direction with less people.

In no time, after getting by a couple security clearances that were familiar with our agency, we arrived to a secluded area of the airport where awaited us was a Quinjet. A small hint of pride and joy bubbled to the surface at the sight of one of my recent creations. After the Hellicarrier, smaller aircrafts were the next thing on the list of taking my projects further. The Quinjet was one of my projects that I had created during middle school before the Helicarrier took up most of my time. SHIELD needed transportation that could match the speed of the current military jets, but it also had to have the dexterity, the maneuverability, and the less likeliness of some short-circuitry malfunction planes and jets usually had.

I did not disappoint them at its first trial.

" _Hey_!" Jackals called over his shoulders, noticing how I was lagging behind. "Double the pace of those short legs of yours, Miles!"

Trust Jackals to be the sadistic sort who got off of poking fun at my small size.

Biting my lips so that an old spat wouldn't start between us (or garner the looks from the older agents that we already get enough of because of our display of immaturity), I kept up with Jackals as several people started to board the open platform. As we got closer, I spotted someone from within the circle of dark suits that stood out like a sore thumb.

"Connor, Jackals." a new voice came in, startling me from my scrutinizing of the blond wearing a bomber jacket. "Glad you could make it in time."

"Coulson!" Jackals and I only ever see and talk to Coulson via videoconferencing or messages. I hadn't even so much as been in the same room with Coulson since three years ago.

"C'mon," he gestured towards the Quinjet. "We'll talk later."

Stepping inside, most of the seats were already taken, and we had to be quick to find them otherwise we would be stuck standing for hours until landing. Making for a couple of open seats, I claimed a spot and strapped the multiple seat buckles on (annoying as they were to put on, they were simple safety protocols that all moving transportation had). Thinking that Jackals was following my example from the sound of his footsteps coming towards me, I didn't bother looking up as I was still busying myself buckling the right straps together.

"I swear it's like playing musical chairs in here." I joked with him as I finally finished my seat belt to look up at him.

It wasn't Jackals.

"Hello," he said, his voice low and quiet but somehow louder than the chatter and running engine of the Quinjet.

I swallowed thickly as I stared up at Steve Rogers, otherwise known as the recently revived Captain America.

"Hi."


	3. Keep Calm (And Panic On)

So, since art/photo links are down, I'm gonna give you a description of the main character of this story. The actress I chose as a face-claim is Victoria Justice. Not only because she's pretty, but her appearance is gonna play another part of the story when it gets to it, but I promise you, it's gonna blow your minds and rock your world! Now, onto the next chapter! Remember to review, I like to hear what people have to say with their opinions and such. My grammar, I feel, has gotten a bit... out of sorts. I feel it's out of sorts, but I might eventually catch on what it is and try and fix it, until then, enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 **xX** _ _ **2oo9**__ **Xx**

The hobo was sitting across from me in the middle of a steakhouse party. And he did not look like a hobo.

"Ms. Connor, this is Clint Barton," Phil Coulson, who had arrived mysteriously after my dad left to get some drinks at the bar, nonchalantly introduced the man sitting next to him currently dressed in dark leather and faded jeans. "Barton, say hello."

"Hey there, tiny." the sandy-haired man greeted casually like he hadn't been following me through college and university dumpsters. "Congratulations by the way."

"Th-thank you," I sputtered awkwardly as we shook hands. The excitement from earlier after shaking hands with several of my professors, hugging and crying with my dad, and feeling the rush of accomplishments despite past difficulties made me feel drained. I just wanted to eat some sirloin steak with my dad and head back home to crash in bed.

Still, I felt good getting to the finish line. Suck it, bullies of my childhood!

The steakhouse was full with cheer as families and friends gathered to give the locals that graduated recently praise for their success. Dad was still at the bar, babbling to his friends, occasionally pointing my way with a big, proud grin plastered on his face. I smiled and shook my head as he and the boys from security made a toast in my honor.

"He's really happy." Clint needlessly pointed out to my dad's group.

"He is."

"As any father should for their child." Coulson cuts in as he pulls out a manila folder, an act that took me back to when I had been young and we were both standing inside a gym.

It was time, wasn't it? The promise of a better life for my family was made the moment dad told me how proud he was when he saw me walk up on the stage in a red and gray gown. It was like a great, powerful waterfall began to crash against me, my body growing heavy as I sank deeply into my chair and stared at the manila folder anxiously.

With a small slide of my direction, the manila folder was sitting neatly before me. Who knew a stack of papers folded inside a brown-yellow folder could be so intimidating?

Slowly, I reached out and opened the folder...

A first-class ticket to Washington sat there on the top.

"... huh?" I couldn't stop my face from scrunching up in confusion. "The heck is this?"

"That there, my tiny friend, is a ticket to your new job." Clint cheerily provided as he took a sip of his own drink.

 _'Just like that?!'_

"Just like that." Coulson agreed.

… could he read my mind, or something?

"I cannot read minds, but your expression is very easy to decipher." the older man said as he pulled out a wallet to leave a few tips for the server. "I'll see you in August, Ms. Connor."

"Welcome to the club, Agent." Clint gave me a pat on the head before following after Coulson.

Dad finally came back from the bar, shaking my shoulder when I hadn't responded to him as I stared blankly at the frozen faces of grotesque-looking head mounts situated on the wall in front of me.

How the flying flip does Coulson pull this shit off so effortlessly?

* * *

 **xX** _ **2o12**_ **Xx**

It was terribly awkward.

Sitting next to me, in blue and white plaid shirt and khakis ,was the guy whose life was practically torn out of his hands the moment I opened my mouth. I could still remember the destroyed look on his face when I told him what had happened to him after his crash... I winced at the memory of his very bad reaction to the news.

Director Fury initially wanted to break it to him under the false pretense that he was under the assumption that it was still the 1940's, but I was quick to oppose the idea. After careful evaluation from the files I was able to access, I came to think that Steve Rogers seemed like the type of man who would rather have the band-aid ripped off quickly than wait for the slow, painful process. He was practically a living incarnation of patriotism, justice, and courage (and let's not forget to mention that he had been born in the 4th of freaking July!), it was almost ridiculous.

From former agent Margaret "Peggy" Carter's personal notes, she described the Captain as a man who stood up to bullies, even if they were bigger and stronger than he was (something about how he personally confided to her, before his Super-Soldier Procedure, that a scrawny man liked him always ended up getting into fights with beefy men twice his weight and size).

It was quite admirable to hear and read about how little Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, the kid people overlooked with his tiny, sickly body, became so much more when the late Dr. Erskine saw his three-times-too-big heart.

That was why I, being the empathetic idiot that I was, suggested that someone simply tell Rogers straight of what went down.

Fury, probably not liking that his idea was shot down, appointed me with the task to personally inform Captain America of the bad news. I swear up and down that people in SHIELD act like children with temper tantrums when things didn't run as smoothly as they wanted them to.

With instructions to place Steve Rogers inside a general (normal) hospital in New York, picking a few doctors and nurses with different diversity and gender, and the current medical machines stationed around him, these factors would play a role in placing a seed within the man's head that he was no longer in his 1940's New York.

And the rest, well, was history (no pun intended).

SHIELD, being the multinational organization that it was, gave me hope that I would never again have another encounter with Captain America.

That hope was subsequently destroyed the moment he loomed over me, said "hello", and then took an empty seat... next to where I was sitting. Was this what former affiliated romantic partners felt like when finding themselves in a situation where they had no choice but to share the same space? Not that I was trying to compare myself and the Captain as romantic partners, nope. Not going down that road!

"Sorry," I caught myself from jumping in surprise when his voice broke the awkward silence between us.

"Um, what?" I found myself staring up at him. Damn, dude was freaking tall!

His large hand clasped around the back of his neck, fingers rubbing the skin as he continued to stare down at the floor like he was getting a scolding. It was almost endearing to see a large man like him act like a little kid with those innocent actions. I was suddenly at the recipient end of those green-blue eyes shyly glancing at me from beneath his lashes.

"Thank you, for... for telling me the truth." he said before turning away with a deep blush dusting over his cheeks. "And sorry about the whole throwing up."

"Oh. _Oh_! No, no! Mr. Rogers, don't apologize," I waved my hands a bit like I was trying to push away the guilt and embarrassment that flowed from him. "The shock of it all is understandable, sir."

A person had to be crazy in not reacting to the news that they have been frozen for most of their lives.

"And, I mean, like I said before, I didn't want to beat around the bush with you. I don't think you would appreciate being coddled like—"

"—like I was some little kid." he finished, a small quirk showing at the corner of his lips.

I couldn't help but return the smile. It was amazing to be talking to Captain America when not surrounded by hospital machines and shocking revelations about being in animated suspension for nearly seven decades. I was the first to break away from his intense stare, pushing a dark strand of hair behind my ear. I wanted to say more, ask more about how he was doing so far in the new world he awoken to, but that seemed a little too nosy. He probably had enough hounding from a few agents that he would find my questions annoying, so I said nothing more.

"Do you know—" I flicked my eyes back to him, his mouth clamping shut. "Sorry, never mind."

"Mr. Rogers, if there's something of concern you need to speak about..." I began, my part time job as a consultant, besides being one of SHIELD's top engineers, kicking in.

I could do this. My job focused mainly on creating, building, and fixing, but I was also taught to have a professional opinion and sound advice when others needed a push when finding themselves stuck.

Rogers just shook his head. "It's nothing. It... doesn't matter anymore."

Sensing that he no longer wanted to talk about the subject that seemed uncomfortable to put into words, I dropped it and focused on Coulson and Jackals. Jackals was strapped up on the other side of the Quinjet while Coulson was standing near the pilots. I could hear the radio channel on, a few updates about the situation I didn't know about and some things that I couldn't hear quite clearly because of the distance.

"Is something going on over there?" Rogers voice cut through my concentration.

"I'm not entirely sure. One minute, I'm having a backyard barbecue with my dad and some of our neighbors, the next, I get a call that I have to report in." I explain to him as I watched the small group. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to tell Steve Rogers anything, but I couldn't let the poor guy walk in on the situation blindly.

There was a moment of silence, and then, "I never did catch your name, miss."

I paused, then blinked, and the slow realization came to me; I never did properly introduced myself to the man sitting on the hospital bed, too busy freaking out when he nearly collapsed into the chunky remains of saltwater left frozen in his stomach. A large hand is held out in front of me, causing me to stare dumbly at it for a few seconds before kicking my brain into gear so that my muscles got the message that I should take the bigger man's hand.

"Steve Rogers," he introduced himself, knowing that it was pointless to say his name but doing it out of courteousness.

"Miles Connor. Nice to meet you, Captain."

 **…**

Others could see the barely contained _giddiness_ emitting from Coulson. Honestly speaking, it was kind of creepy. Phil Coulson was always known to be the true definition of stoicism, even in the face of impending danger or bewildering situations. So, imagine everyone's surprise when a simple exchange with Steve Rogers reduced Coulson to a fanboy that looked seconds away from fainting out of happiness.

 **"Delta 806, you're clear for landing pad 8."**

"Roger that."

Soon as the Quinjet landed, I was already unbuckling the belt straps and readily heading for the opening. Hearing heavy footsteps, I didn't doubt that Steve was following closely after pulling himself away from Coulson when he and the older agent had been near the front for some debriefing. Jackals took the spot Rogers originally occupied and proceeded to play a pointless game of I Spy. I squinted when the air of outside came in a rush, blowing strands of my hair left loose from my messy bun wildly.

Caught a bit off guard from the harsh glint of the sun (most windshields were tinted), I took a step back to get away from the glare, but mostly ended up bumping into the hard wall of muscles behind me. Instantly, large hands wound themselves on my shoulders to steady me while I pulled a hand up to act as a shield.

"Sorry!" I said loudly, the wind and the shouting from outside beginning to rise.

"No problem, Ms. Connor."

I pulled away from his hold and followed after Jackals and the rest of the men in suits. The scent of salt water hit my nose just as the wind grew wilder as I stepped out of the Quinjet, and it felt fantastic.

 _'Note to self: upon surviving this, book a flight to Hawaii/Australia to enjoy the beaches and cute surfers.'_

I didn't get a step further when someone stood in front of me: Natasha Romanoff.

Black Widow was one scary-ass agent that _other_ agents were afraid of. Standing tall, red hair cut short and curled nicely to give an impression of business and poise, and the fact she had a natural beauty about her made her all the more alluring. But like her code name, she could tangle her unsuspecting targets (even the ones that thought that suspected her), disarm them with words and small gestures before she went in for the kill; both figuratively and quite literally.

If Barton and Jackals' stories were true, that is. But having crossed paths with her due to visiting Barton with upgrades on his bow and arrows, I had come to learn that I had to keep myself on my toes every time I saw the red-head step inside the room. For all I knew, I could be stepping into one of her carefully woven webs that would spring up on me. It could happen today, tomorrow, a year from now, but the Black Widow was a patient creature.

"Connor," she acknowledged my presence with a polite nod.

"Romanoff." I returned, my body standing ramrod unlike the taller woman's casual stride as she drew closer.

"Agent Romanoff," Coulson's voice cut through the stiff air. "Captain Rogers."

I swore I could hear the adoration creeping through Coulson's voice.

"Ma'am."

"Hi." Natasha did a quick once-over on the newcomer. "Coulson, you're needed at the bridge. They're starting a face-trace."

I made a move to follow Coulson as he gave a quick farewell to the others, but a gentle hold on my shoulder stopped me from going after him. Next thing I knew, I'm facing the taller red-head who stared down at me with those intimidatingly all-knowing faded green orbs.

"Fury has a job for you."

 _'Oh, shit.'_ my mind squeaked, but my face remained blank.

Romanoff tucked me under her arm easily, and I walked along with her in a mildly slow pace. From the corner of my eye, I saw Steve following behind us with a look of trepidation. It was like he could sense the foreboding feelings I was emitting and made to give a hand if things spiraled out of control. That was nice, but I didn't think he could take on whatever Romanoff was going to throw because... hello, she was feared by other agents for a reason!

I was alright with getting orders when it came from Hill, Coulson, Jackals, Barton, and occasionally from Sitwell and other higher leveled agents... but an order that came directly from the Big Man himself meant something that I could only think must be colossal. I've only had two jobs from Fury, and one of them was walking right behind me!

"It was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice." Romanoff began, her direction of conversation only making the anticipation more harmful of whatever assignment Fury was throwing at me. "I thought Coulson was gonna swoon."

 _'So I wasn't the only one who noticed!'_ I thought frantically, my mind bouncing along the mental walls as it tried to prepare me for the worst.

"Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards?"

"Trading Cards?" Rogers and I spoke simultaneously that we both looked at each other in slight surprise.

"They're vintage." she smiled at us before tugging me back to following her while I eyed her had that strayed close to collar in suspicion. "He's very proud."

"So," I said as I continued to stare at her hand. "What's this job that Fury wants me to do?"

Romanoff didn't answer. Rogers did the job for her.

"Dr. Banner!"

Instantly, my insides froze and my eyes nearly popped out for their sockets in shock. A horrifying splash of cold, unmerciful fear clashed against my poor bones, the insides of my stomach twisting in displeasure that I was lucky I had nothing to eat for hours otherwise I would have thrown up right there on the asphalt.

Just half a yard away stood a ruffled-looking man in equally ruffled attire, like he had spent the night wearing that to bed (and he probably did). He eyed the entire place warily, and I knew for a fact that he had every right to feel wary when this entire place seemed reminiscent of a military base. Even still, looking like a man that wanted the floor to swallow him whole, even as he greeted Rogers politely with a hand shake, I was fucking terrified.

I wanted to wretch myself out of Romanoff's hold and throw myself into the sea water. It was no wonder why she put an arm over my shoulder: to prevent me from running the other direction.

"Dr. Banner," Romanoff spoke up as she stepped closer to him, dragging me along because my feet suddenly couldn't move. "This is Miles Connor, she'll be assisting you with recovering the Tesseract."

 _'Fuck me.'_

I hoped Jackals didn't play a fucking Katy Perry song at my funeral or I was going to haunt his ass!


	4. To Keep Safe (And To Keep From)

Forgive me for taking long; life drew me away and I was feeling a little off with writer's block syndrome. But I was cured (a little) when Captain America: Civil War Superbowl trailer came out! I have so many feelings about this, you probably have an idea because I know for sure that there are people screaming, dying, and crying over this. So many FEELS! Anyway, new chapter and new development with our little Avengers!

p.s. forgive my science talk, it is not to be taken seriously because my knowledge of all things scienc-y sucks.

* * *

 _ **xX**_ _ _ **2oo9**__ _ **Xx**_

"Aaaannd... _viola_!"

Clint stared at the weapon displayed before him, his eyes tracing the sleek form that tempted him to grab and wield. He could just imagine his fingers wrapped around the leather that held the bow ever so smoothly, the few strings that each held a different tight coiling to help with how fast, how far, how direct he wanted his arrows to go.

Oh, and the arrowheads...

"Clint?" a voice echoed around his head, bringing the archer back from eyeing the weapon with utmost appreciation. "C'mon Clint, don't start drooling on me now. You haven't even tried this thing yet?"

Without ever meaning to, he found himself raising an arm with his hand wiping across his lips. With his brain quickly catching up to his muscles, the older man froze before throwing a glare over to the person that was obviously at fault for his actions.

I laughed like a madman. Leaning against one of the tables so I wouldn't end up stumbling on my ass (and falling into something dangerous since this was an R&D lab, and I was pretty sure there was someone working on some chemical weapon project for agents to use on the field). My laughter bounced against the walls, and I quickly tried to stifle it, but it didn't help any when I saw the older man giving me an unimpressed look. For all things that involved bows and arrows, Clint's intense love for them was just borderline hilarious and a bit worrisome.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, tiny." the sandy-haired man rolled his eyes at me.

"Oh, man," I cackled. "I can't believe you actually thought you were drooling."

As the veteran agent watched me try and fail to calm my laughing fit, he narrowed his sharp eyes dangerous before loosening his facial muscles whilst a creeping (and most sinister) smile contorted across his previously scowling expression. The look made me lose all humor when I saw it because that look alone made me feel like I had just walked my sorry ass in the middle of a goddamn storm. Seeing as I had his undivided attention, Clint did not hold back in what he wanted to say to me.

"So how's your work-out?" he asked, innocence dripping from his voice that contrasted against the evil look on his face.

"It's good." I said, worried and puzzled.

"That's weird." Clint made a wide arc as he looked around the lab with fake nonchalance. "I heard from your personal trainer that you've been lagging behind from your exercising."

 _'Oh, God. Please don't tell me he's not thinking about—'_

"Maybe me and 'Tasha can drop sometime later on," he drawled as he leaned casually back against the stool chair he was seated on, a terrifying smile spread across his lips. "We'll get you up and on your toes in no time."

I was white as a sheet when he finished with his not-so-subliminal threat in making my already harsh training session into something out of Dante's Inferno. The older man knew I was terrified of the red-headed Russian, and for him to be dangling the Black Widow with the promise of an utter beat-down, I shuddered at the scary thought to see that woman come inside a gym dressed to kill me on the mats.

"You know I was just playing... right?" I squeaked, pathetic and small.

Before Clint could snap back a witty retort, the doors at the entrance of the lab hissed open. Clint and I looked over to find a breathless low-level agent looking around the lab until he spotted us—or rather, when he spotted the master marksman sitting across from me. I sat up straight on my chair, alert and waiting for whatever news would spill out of the other agent's mouth.

"What's up?" the archer asked, his body tense and just as alert as mine was.

"Coulson's requesting back-up," the nameless agent said, flicking his head towards the entrance behind him. "We lost contact with Romanoff near Odessa—"

That was all the agent had to say because Clint was on his feet and immediately storming straight for the door. Startled, the agent stammered before quickly retreating from the lab to go after the sandy-haired man. Bewildered and a little worried, I snapped back to the weapon still sitting on my work table then quickly gathered the equipment into a special case. Running out of the R&D lab to catch up to the two agents, I dodged and weaved through the people that filtered in and out of SHIELD HQ, calling after the archer when I spotted his head amongst the crowd. Clint didn't stop, but he slowed down enough for me to catch up to him.

"Take this." I handed him the case. "Its got a few extra arrowheads for tight spots, another to get someone hiding in a corner, and probably a couple of shrapnel bombs to take out a flock of birds."

"Thanks, kid." he nodded before picking up his pace, leaving me behind in the crowded hallway.

"Good luck, Clint." I muttered, watching my friend leave to find his partner and closest confident.

The next few days, after making a couple of trips to keep close to the people in charge of communications, I was relieved to hear the report that Clint brought back his friend. Romanoff was hospitalized after sustaining a gunshot wound that shot right through her gut. The slug wasn't aiming to kill the Black Widow, rather, it had been aiming to hit the nuclear scientist she had been assigned to extract quietly from the Iran border.

With solemn silence, I headed back into the lab to get to work. Spending countless hours, sleepless nights, and barely leaving the R&D lab for anything, I remained inside the department until I had finally completed the task I had set myself out to do after the news of Clint's retrieval of his injured friend.

Almost a month later since the incident, after Romanoff was taken off the bench when the doctors finally gave her the green light, the red-headed Russian found a new bullet-proofed tactical suit waiting inside her locker. Along side the sleek black cat suit were a couple of electrical stingers that strapped around the wrists, a few nasty-looking knives that blended into her suit, and small yet effectively powerful handguns.

* * *

 **xX** _ **2o12**_ **Xx**

"The Tesseract is _missing_?!"

My mind was weird. As a self-defense mechanism to prevent myself from falling into hysterics, my brain shot to the next big thing to keep me distracted and not have a total meltdown. Thus, after the terrifying announcement that I would be in close proximity (or in close range if I was going to be blunt) with Dr. Banner, my brain automatically latched onto the last words of Romanoff's statement. It was like my brain was eating whatever interesting things that came along while simultaneously pooping out junk that wasn't needed... (that was the grossest analogy ever).

Brief and to the point, Romanoff began to recount the events that transpired for the past couple days when one of the SHIELD bases collapsed after the arrival of a threatening individual who went by the name of Loki. The name made me think about the reports and files I read about what had happened to a New Mexico small town, and there was a some guy who shared the same name of a Norse God involved with the whole incident.

Coincidence? Not in SHIELD's line of work.

"What about Dr. Selvig? Or the rest of the team?" _Were they okay?_ was a question I couldn't bring myself to ask.

Clint had been transferred to Selvig's team after his joint mission with Romanoff in Budapest.

I felt tingles from being stared down by the Black Widow, but I pulled a brave face and stood firm, wanting to know anyway. Clint was one of the few friends I had, and Dr. Selvig was a brilliant man who wasn't all that bothered about working alongside a person twice his junior (unlike some I knew who still treated me like I was a wild-child handling delicate, fragile china teacups). Her focused eyes flickered over my head easily enough, making me want to look over what was it that caught her attention, before she snapped those green hues back to me.

I felt something in the air that suggested that there was someone standing directly behind me.

"Dr. Selvig and Agent Barton have been compromised," came her cool reply. "You'll hear more from Commander Hill."

My eyes involuntarily closed, unwanted images of an injured archer and a battered, old civilian just barely transitioning into SHIELD lifestyle came across the closed lids. I pinched the space between my eyes, just above the bridge of my nose, and breathed in carefully. Without warning, a large, warm palm settled over one of my shoulders and offered support by giving a light squeeze. After a moment, I gathered up enough courage to come back to the messy reality I had signed myself up for since meeting Coulson.

"Alright," I muttered. "Let's get going."

Romanoff stepped aside, allowing me to pass her to head inside as people were beginning to lock down in preparation of the Helicarrier's take off. As I went ahead, Steve and Dr. Banner stopped to watch the people tie down the multiple aircrafts on top the colossal ship while there was an alarm that was signalling for something. Signaling for what, however, the two men had no idea.

"Gentlemen, you might want to step inside in a minute. It's going to get a little hard to _breathe_." Romanoff said, making the two men look around in new found bewilderment.

"Is this a submarine?" Steve asked, his voice drifting into awe as he stepped towards the edge of the ship to get a better glimpse.

"Really? They want _me_ in a submerged pressurized metal container?" a dry laugh escaped Dr. Banner as if he found the idea incredibly laughable. In a terrifying way, it was.

A huge whirring noise rose in volume, making Steve and Dr. Banner pause as they finally caught sight of what looked to be some sort of giant fan that began to come to life. The seawater around it splashed and splintered in the air, sending small spays of water that they could barely feel as the vortex water disappeared the faster the propellers went. Trailing from the one before them, their eyes drifted further ahead to the side to find another giant coaxial propeller causing a stir in the ocean.

The air around them spiraled out of control, causing jackets and blazers to billow wildly and hair to wave like a meadow field being blown by a tornado. They felt the ground beneath them quake as it slowly rose from the ocean, seawater spilling from places that it had easily filtered through from within the ship. Steve's heart felt like it was going to burst in his chest, the high adrenaline thrumming through his veins singing like it had when he first stepped out of the container with his new body.

It was amazing.

"Oh, no," Steve almost missed Dr. Banner's grim smile. "This is _much_ worse!"

"Whose idea was this?" Steve said out loud, still watching the ship rise from the ocean.

He remembered, what seemed a few short years ago (and it technically kind of was in his case), standing inside a Stark EXPO with Bucky, watching Howard Stark proclaim that the world would be seeing themselves literally flying high with their cars...

And he was standing on top of a flying ship! Had Howard's son, a man he had yet to be introduced to, come up with thi—

"You already had the privilege of meeting the person who created all this, Rogers." Romanoff informed as she gestured them to follow her.

He watched her retreating back, his brows furrowed in confusion. The doctor beside him shared an also equally puzzled look.

"I did?" he called after her.

Romanoff threw a smirk over her shoulder while still heading for the nearby entrance.

"You were sitting right next to her."

… and there went his ten bucks.

 **...**

Inside a mostly deserted women's locker room, I zipped up the dark blue coveralls over my bellybutton before tying the sleeves around my waist that simply left my torso exposed. With only a black white beater that clung to my slender frame, I quickly pull my hair back in a quick (slightly messy) bun before pulling my working boots and then grab for the items left on my bench as I changed clothes.

I was quick to reach the main Bridge, people bustling with activity as they worked tirelessly in tracking down the mysterious Loki who held the Tesseract, and a couple of our people, hostage. I gave a quick nod to Jackals, who was watching the whole room with a blank look, before turning to the Director. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Steve and Dr. Banner standing at the other side of the oval-shaped table that served as a briefing for whatever information and updates that would pop up on the screens.

"Agent Connor," Fury greeted me with a curt nod. "What do you have for us?"

I pulled up the tablet that was given to me by a passing lab technician, and with a simple flick of my wrist, the schematics and files on the tablet flicked in a holographic image that hovered over the table for everyone to see. With my fingers locating a nearby touch screen on the table, the holograph responded accordingly to my scoping. When I found what I was looking for, I stopped.

"From the notes that were left behind by Dr. Selvig, this thing runs on gamma radiation." I turned to Coulson. "Do you have anything so far?"

"We got our eyes and ears through every wireless accessible cellphones, laptops, and security feeds we can get our hands on for any matching descriptions for our guy." Coulson replied, standing a little ways from the silent Jackals.

"That's still not gonna be enough to find them in time." Romanoff said, kneeling beside a computer with Clint's image displayed. I bit my bottom lip before quickly turning back to the matter.

I had to keep my head cool. The less I panicked over things that couldn't be helped, the faster we went in finding the person responsible for Clint and Dr. Selvig's disappearance. Swallowing back the anxiety thrumming through me when I turned to the other doctor in the room, I addressed the older man, "Dr. Banner?"

The older man, who had been standing off the side like a forgotten bystander, looked away from the holograph and turned to me.

"Do you have any suggestions on narrowing the field for us in tracking this down?" I gestured to the Tesseract image floating placidly above the table.

Giving another quick scan of the holograph, the doctor began to remove his blazer, walking around the table until his voice broke through the quiet.

"How many spectrometers does SHIELD have access to?" Banner asked, looking at me as he settled the worn coat over a seat.

"More people than the Director met in the entirety of his life." I quipped, falling into another fail safe when I was nervous: sarcasm. My body's natural defense mechanism. "And that's a _lot_."

To my surprise, the corner of Banner's lips quirked at the corners before sobering up. I almost winced at the feeling of Fury's gaze boring holes at the back of my head. Hell, I could even feel the burn of it.

"Call every lab you know. Tell them to set their spectrometers on the roof so I could calibrate them for gamma rays. I'll rough out a tracking algorithm based on the cluster recognition." Banner paused and looked around the room. "Is there a place where we can get started?"

Turning to Fury, the man gave his silent consent and I returned my gaze back to the gamma ray expert.

"If you can follow me, Dr. Banner." I said as I walked past him, feeling him following close behind as we passed two guards posted by a nearby entrance.

"You're gonna love it, doc." Romanoff said from behind us. "It's got all kinds of toys."

I continued to lead us both down the hall until we reached a staircase. "Down here."

Reaching the Helicarrier's lab, the doors hissed open when it sensed our approach and we entered inside the cool, bright room with viewing screens, tablets, tools, work tables, and computers at our disposal. I gestured for him to take a seat on one of the computers while I took another one (one a little far away and closer to the door for just in case).

A comm attached to my ear spoke up, and I pressed a button on the side of little gadget so that the speakers I installed in several spots inside the lab would allow Banner to hear it, too.

"We're sending the spectrometers through."

"Okay then," Banner said as he glanced at me. "Let's get started, Agent Connor."

"Lets." I agreed before letting my fingers dance across the keyboards.

 **…**

Hours later, the door hissed open and the noise breaks me out of the concentration I had focused on with the growing spectrometers that helped scope out a unique gamma ray pattern that would lead us closer in finding the Tesseract. Standing awkwardly at the door was Steve Rogers, holding two mugs in his hands as he looked around the lab while heading towards the computers where me and Banner spent the last couple hours on.

I pulled away from the screen, my fingers aching for the need to take a break from the all the typing, touch-screen scribbling, and just simply being in constant motion. I heard Banner join my table, thinking the same idea when I saw him wring his hands in a futile effort to wave away the pain in his digits. Steve offered a crooked smile towards us, holding out mugs of coffee for us to take.

"Thought you guys might be a little thirsty, and I hear that people around this time like coffee better than they like juice." he said, a little bashful that I felt my heart grow from how thoughtful he was.

"Thanks, man." I smiled, grabbing a mug and watching as Steve pulled out some cream and a couple packets of sugar. I took two creams and two sugars while Banner didn't take any of them, preferring his coffee black.

"That's very kind of you, Rogers. Thank you." Banner said, courteous and kind.

The more hours I spent with Banner, the more I felt a little relaxed after nothing had happened. We exchanged a few words, pointing out what could possibly be a lead for our search for the glowing cube, and helping each other with whatever resources we could think of to make our little global search for the missing Tesseract (and my friends) go faster. The doctor wanted to be out of here just as much as everyone, including myself, wanted him to. It was sad, and I felt like a total asshole, but I couldn't help my flight instincts edging around when the older man came a little too close for comfort.

It only made me feel worse when Dr. Banner seemed to catch on by keeping his distance, never staying in my space for more than a few seconds.

"So, how's it going so far?" Steve asked, looking at our screens with a dubious face. "Those green blotches are a good sign... right?"

I couldn't stop myself from smiling at his attempts to figure out the alien technology he tried to read. The big guy had a long way to go before he was actually ready to learn how to use Google and handle a smartphone. I almost wanted to laugh right there at the picture my mind conjured of Captain America failing to text because of his too big digits.

"Those," Dr. Banner looked at the screen. "Are just normal low-level gamma rays we crossed out for possible locations."

"We're trying to find random spikes of gammas that reach to high, dangerous levels." I sipped my coffee. "The problem is that they come and go too quickly before we can zone in on it properly. It'll take a couple days, unless the spikes last long enough, for us to have proper coordinates."

"Jeez." Steve muttered from beside me as he stared at the screen.

Both Banner and I hummed in agreement.

At that moment, the comm in my ear buzzed to life, almost causing me to spill the coffee in my hand. Quickly depositing the mug on a nearby table surface, I pressed against my ear piece.

"Connor," I spoke up while staring blankly at the area ahead.

"We got a hit on the satellite facial recognition." Jasper Sitwell's voice cuts through. "Sixty-seven percent—wait! Seventy-nine...!"

Hurrying past the two men, I reached for a nearby viewing screen and made quick work by tapping the keys to switch the screen into a live video feed. The two men closed in from behind me, watching intently as I finally opened a new tab to reveal the live feed that the others were no doubt watching from the main area of the Helicarrier.

A man with dark, slicked-back, shoulder-length hair walked past the security camera. His pale skin almost glowed from the street lamps that illuminated the dark night that surrounded him. He was looking about, scanning where he was, and I almost written him off as some sort of tourist getting separated from his group and guide... until I saw his inhumanely bright, green eyes glimmering in the dark.

"Loki," I breathed out, not having realized my lungs had momentarily stopped working.

"Where is he?" Steve asked, his voice low.

The all-American soldier's boyish bashfulness disappeared so fast it almost made me think that this guy had two different personalities: one was Steve and the other was the Captain. Standing beside me was not the man I had met on the Quinjet, but the formidable soldier from the old second World War. That man was prepared for battle.

"Stuttgart, Germany. There's an opening gala at the local museum." Sitwell said before adding. "He's not exactly hiding."

"Captain." Steve, Dr. Banner, and myself looked to the entrance of the lab to find Fury standing there. His legendary art of sneaking inside places without alerting people well known. "You're up."

With a tight nod, the tall blond threw one last glance towards me before heading out the lab with Fury (and Natasha, all suited up) in the lead.

"Here we go, then." Banner murmured from beside me, his coffee cold and forgotten.


End file.
